Proserpine and Midas Part 9

Not as I--I am a G.o.d! Look, dunce!

I tread or leap beneath this load of gold!

(_Jumps & stops suddenly._)

I've hurt my back:--this cloak is wondrous hard!

No more of this! my appet.i.te would say The hour is come for my noon-day repast.

_Lac._ It comes borne in by twenty l.u.s.ty slaves, Who scarce can lift the ma.s.s of solid gold, That lately was a table of light wood.

Here is the heavy golden ewer & bowl, In which, before you eat, you wash your hands.

_Mid._ (_lifting up the ewer_) This is to be a king! to touch pure gold!

Would that by touching thee, Zopyrion, [56]

I could trans.m.u.te thee to a golden man; A crowd of golden slaves to wait on me!

(_Pours the water on his hands._)

But how is this? the water that I touch Falls down a stream of yellow liquid gold, And hardens as it falls. I cannot wash-- Pray Bacchus, I may drink! and the soft towel With which I'd wipe my hands trans.m.u.tes itself Into a sheet of heavy gold.--No more!

I'll sit and eat:--I have not tasted food For many hours, I have been so wrapt In golden dreams of all that I possess, I had not time to eat; now hunger calls And makes me feel, though not remote in power From the immortal G.o.ds, that I need food, The only remnant of mortality!

(_In vain attempts to eat of several dishes._)

Alas! my fate! 'tis gold! this peach is gold!

This bread, these grapes & all I touch! this meat Which by its scent quickened my appet.i.te Has lost its scent, its taste,--'tis useless gold.

_Zopyr._ (_aside_) He'd better now have followed my advice.

He starves by gold yet keeps his a.s.ses' ears. [57]

_Mid._ Asphalion, put that apple to my mouth; If my hands touch it not perhaps I eat.

Alas! I cannot bite! as it approached I felt its fragrance, thought it would be mine, But by the touch of my life-killing lips 'Tis changed from a sweet fruit to tasteless gold, Bacchus will not refresh me by his gifts, The liquid wine congeals and flies my taste.

Go, miserable slaves! Oh, wretched king!

Away with food! Its sight now makes me sick.

Bring in my couch! I will sleep off my care, And when I wake I'll coin some remedy.

I dare not bathe this sultry day, for fear I be enclosed in gold. Begone!

I will to rest:--oh, miserable king!

(_Exeunt all but Midas. He lies down, turns restlessly for some time & then rises._)

Oh! fool! to wish to change all things to gold!

Blind Ideot that I was! This bed is gold; And this hard, weighty pillow, late so soft, That of itself invited me to rest, Is a hard lump, that if I sleep and turn I may beat out my brains against its sides. [58]

Oh! what a wretched thing I am! how blind!

I cannot eat, for all my food is gold; Drink flies my parched lips, and my hard couch Is worse than rock to my poor bruised sides.

I cannot walk; the weight of my gold soles Pulls me to earth:--my back is broke beneath These gorgeous garments--(_throws off his cloak_) Lie there, golden cloak!

There on thy kindred earth, lie there and rot!

I dare not touch my forehead with my palm For fear my very flesh should turn to gold.

Oh! let me curse thee, vilest, yellow dirt!

Here, on my knees, thy martyr lifts his voice, A poor, starved wretch who can touch nought but thee[,]

Wilt thou refresh me in the heat of noon?

Canst thou be kindled for me when I'm cold?

May all men, & the immortal G.o.ds, Hate & spurn thee as wretched I do now.

(_Kicks the couch, & tries to throw down the pillow but cannot lift it._)

I'd dash, thee to the earth, but that thy weight Preserves thee, abhorred, Tartarian Gold! [59]

Bacchus, O pity, pardon, and restore me!

Who waits?

_Enter Lacon._

Go bid the priests that they prepare Most solemn song and richest sacrifise;-- Which I may not dare touch, lest it should turn To most unholy gold.

_Lacon._ Pardon me, oh King, But perhaps the G.o.d may give that you may eat, And yet your touch be magic.

_Mid._ No more, thou slave!

Gold is my fear, my bane, my death! I hate Its yellow glare, its aspect hard and cold.

I would be rid of all.--Go bid them haste.

(_Exit Lacon._)

Oh, Bacchus I be propitious to their prayer!

Make me a hind, clothe me in ragged skins-- And let my food be bread, unsavoury roots, But take from me the frightful curse of gold.

Am I not poor? Alas! how I am changed!

Poorer than meanest slaves, my piles of wealth Cannot buy for me one poor, wretched dish:-- In summer heat I cannot bathe, nor wear A linen dress; the heavy, dull, hard metal Clings to me till I pray for poverty.

_Enter Zopyrion, Asphalion & Lacon._ [60]

_Zopyr._ The sacrifice is made, & the great G.o.d, Pitying your ills, oh King, accepted it, Whilst his great oracle gave forth these words.

"Let poor king Midas bathe in the clear stream "Of swift Pactolus, & to those waves tran[s]fer "The gold-trans.m.u.ting power, which he repents."

_Mid._ Oh joy! Oh Bacchus, thanks for this to thee Will I each year offer three sucking lambs-- Games will I inst.i.tute--nor Pan himself Shall have more honour than thy deity.

Haste to the stream,--I long to feel the cool And liquid touch of its divinest waves.

(_Exeunt all except Zopyrion and Asphalion._)

_Asph._ Off with our golden sandals and our cloaks!

Oh, I shall ever hate the sight of gold!

Poor, wealthy Midas runs as if from death To rid him quick of this meta[l]lic curse.

_Zopyr._ (_aside_) I wonder if his a.s.ses['] ears are gold; What would I give to let the secret out?

Gold! that is trash, we have too much of it,-- But I would give ten new born lambs to tell This most portentous truth--but I must choke.

_Asph._ Now we shall tend our flocks and reap our corn As we were wont, and not be killed by gold.

Golden fleeces threatened our poor sheep, [61]

The very showers as they fell from heaven Could not refresh the earth; the wind blew gold, And as we walked [Footnote: MS. _as he walked._]

the thick sharp-pointed atoms Wounded our faces--the navies would have sunk--

_Zopyr._ All strangers would have fled our gold-cursed sh.o.r.e, Till we had bound our wealthy king, that he Might leave the green and fertile earth unchanged;-- Then in deep misery he would have shook His golden chains & starved.

_Enter Lacon._